[Welcome... to the Worst Breakfast Ever Made by Man, at least as far as Emil is concerned. The bed he woke up in? Very nice! Very plush, much nicer than the carriage he fell asleep in last. But everything since then has been absolutely horrible, and he hasn't made much effort to pretend he thinks otherwise. He's sulking over his porridge, all elbows-on-the-table and mumbling to himself in a way that is definitely hoping someone will ask him to repeat himself. It's that kind of morning.

When Piper shows up at his table, he looks up from stirring some fruit pieces into his porridge like that will possibly make it more appetizing, blinks at her, then gestures at the seat across the table.]

If you want, go right ahead. [Barely a second passes before actually, he has more!!] Can you believe this? That woman asks us to come and then doesn't want us to be here? And that bodyguard of hers! I thought my skin was going to crawl off, the way he was— [He waves a hand, searching for a word for "magically polluting the psychic experience of this breakfast," which is not a concept he has any words for.] Well, you know! Really.